


Accept No Substitutions

by Draycevixen



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Christmas, Community: mfuwss, Drabble, Drabble Sequence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the community: mfuwss Christmas drabble challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

.

Illya locked the door and slid down it, curling in, his head resting on his knees.

Napoleon was dead. _Dead_ and he’d never had the nerve to tell him how he—

“That looks very uncomfortable.”

 

Illya’s head shot up. Napoleon, dressed in borrowed clothes, he’d never own a Santa sweater, leaned in the doorway to the cabin’s kitchen.

“But I saw you...” Illya couldn’t finish.

“Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated... Here, have a gingerbread man.”

Illya crossed the room fast, sending the plate flying as he reached for Napoleon.

“I will have the man from UNCLE instead.”

 

.


	2. Chapter 2

.

Napoleon awoke lying half on the fireplace hearth, with Santa’s face beaming up at him from the sweater pushed up under his armpits. The only things he was wearing from the armpits down were his left sock and Illya, curled up asleep, using Napoleon’s stomach as a pillow.

He knew he was dreaming but it wasn’t one of his better ones. Illya was _still_ dressed and Napoleon was covered in gingerbread crumbs.

 _Gingerbread?_ This was real.

 

“If you move again there will be consequences.”

Illya often said _that_ in Napoleon’s dreams and now he knew what to do. He moved.

 

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I was asked how Napoleon got that sweater.

.

What was it about Christmas and the classics? Water and electrodes, THRUSH really needed to update their routine.

Getting out of his cell was easy, the guard dying silently, but the man had been extremely small and Napoleon couldn’t wear his clothes. Despite his shivering from the cold, the guard’s gun was a comforting weight against his naked chest.

 

Coming down the corridor was a guard sporting a Santa sweater, woollen mittens on his hands. It was a Christmas miracle; he could hear Illya grouching “Solo’s luck.”

 

Napoleon left him one mitten. He had to keep his trigger finger free.

 

.


End file.
